


green eyes, I'd run away with you

by orphan_account



Category: The Horrors (Band)
Genre: Banter, Boarding School, Collars, Dom/sub Undertones, First Time, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, also faris calls tom daddy at one point what is up with that, bye my friends, dubious consent in the first sex scene???, faris is bad at negotiation, i wrote high school bdsm this is it im going to hell, rebellious teenagers wow edgy, tom is most definitely not consenting very enthusiastically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 14:34:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom and Faris are rebellious teenagers who hang out in cemeteries. they fuck sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	green eyes, I'd run away with you

**Author's Note:**

> titled after "Green Eyes" by wavves.
> 
> to clarify the underage warning, Tom and Faris are 14/15 the first time they have sex, but of age in the UK in the other sex scenes.

some days, they go down into town and sit under the big oak tree in the cemetery. sunny days, but most of the time, when it's soggy and gloomy out. mainly because there's more soggy and gloomy days than there isn't. the oak tree's stood in the far back of the cemetery, the part where the birth dates on the gravestones date back to the 1800s, the part that no one ever comes to visit any more. Tom sits on one of the tree's thick roots, satchel balanced on his knees, and Faris sits on the shoulders of an angel statue that's fallen over years earlier. at the part where it's broken off, where, technically, would be underneath the angel's gown, the marble is pure white.

on the days that someone does stumble into that part of the cemetery, the middle-aged and old grandchildren of people who died forty years ago, Tom and Faris sneer at them as if they own the place.

they kind of do, Tom thinks, since that time in year 11 when he carved both their names into the trunk of the tree, with the pocket knife that Faris got from some boy in the school yard. Tom hadn't asked, because he never asks where Faris gets anything from, but he'd carved TOM + FAZ into the crumbly bark either way, really dug the knife in to make sure the letters would show.

from where he was sitting on the angel's chest with his legs folded, Faris said, 'do a heart. a big arrow love heart.'

'that's really gay,' Tom pointed out, and then he went over the A in FAZ with the knife again.

'I know, it's great,' Faris said, and then he squinted behind his granny coke-bottle glasses and asked, 'did you write my name as Faz?'

some days, they switch places, and then Tom stares down at the angel's eternally serene face between his feet and talks to it instead of Faris.

he traces the crack on the angel's neck, where the blinding white is peeking through as well, and says, 'd'you think that maybe they meant to cut the head off first?'

'what do you mean, they?'

'you know, like. the people who vandalised this thing in the first place.' Tom leans back onto the cold stone of the angel's torso, then, after a moment of consideration, stuffs his satchel behind his head. he reaches one hand out to Faris, who's rolling fags with his tongue clamped between his lips in concentration, and Faris pauses to bring one up to his mouth and light it.

he takes a deep drag and passes it over to Tom, and when he exhales, through the thick cloud of fog, he asks, 'why would they wanna do that?'

'I don't know.' Tom traces his finger over the angel's eyelids. 'to minimise the suffering, maybe.' he sucks at the fag and shrugs.

Faris gives him a look. 'Tom, it's a bloody statue.'

'yeah, I know.'

 

–

 

they start doing it when Tom's twelve and Faris has just turned thirteen. it's early morning and Tom's standing at the sink in the washroom on their floor, trying to tie his tie so it'll look neat. Faris is sitting on the toilet seat in one of the cubicles, knees pulled up to his chest with the door unlocked and left open just enough that Tom can see half of him in the mirror. there's no one else here yet, because Faris likes to be more than punctual, and also, because he likes to have a smoke in the loos early in the morning.

they'd both started doing that a few months earlier, just before summer began. that's to say, one day, when they were both out in town after school, Faris had pulled a little cigarette case he'd gotten fuck-knows-where from the inner pocket of his blazer. when Tom had protested, Faris had said, 'come on, Tomethy, don't be like that. all the girls just love a guy who smokes, don't you know?' and that had lead to Tom taking a huge drag and coughing so hard he could feel his lungs shake.

now, though, right now Faris is taking a long drag and exhaling up at the crack in the ceiling, and Tom says, 'I really don't want to go to class today.'

he's kind of craving a fag, and the stench sifting over isn't helping with that, but he's not going to do it before class. the smoke is going to cling to him and make his teachers ask question, and he's not like Faris, he can't lie with a straight face. Faris, he knows the names of all the guys in sixth form, specifically, the guys who smoke, and he's always ready to rat them out and say it was second-hand smoke that got into his clothes, if it means getting let off easy.

'how about,' Faris starts, 'we just don't go to class today?'

'what do you mean?'

'you know, what if we just leg it?' he stands up and takes a second to flush the butt of his smoke down the toilet, and then he's standing behind Tom at the mirror. 'we could just sneak out.'

'we can't.' Tom's voice goes a little bit squeaky. his voice has started cracking just a few weeks earlier, but most of the time, it still sounds the way it did before that, and some times, like now, it's actually embarrassing. 'we'll get in trouble.'

'come on, Tomethy,' Faris coos. in the mirror, his reflection lights another fag. 'do you never want to have a bit of fun?'

'why do you keep calling me Tomethy?'

'it's your new name, I've just decided. it suits you', the reflection says, and then Faris reaches forward and messes Tom's tie up where he's only just gotten the knot right. 'now come on, we're in a hurry.'

and what Tom does is, he follows Faris out of the bathroom and down the corridor, down two flights of stairs, because that's a thing he does. when Faris tells him to jump, he jumps, or however that saying goes, and if Faris jumped off a cliff he'd come running right after. because he won't let Faris get into trouble all by himself, no matter how stupid that makes him. it's something he doesn't really get and he doesn't catch up with the fact that he's doing it again until Faris is dragging him across the campus by his wrist.

'hang on a second,' he says, has to shout a bit just to make sure Faris can really hear his discontent with this whole situation, 'I never said I was going to sneak out with you.'

Faris turns around to look at him, that stupid shark-like grin smeared across his face, and says, 'yeah, but you didn't say you were not gonna, either.' the whole time, he doesn't stop walking, and then he yanks Tom's wrist and almost makes him trip, and says, 'and shush, you're going to wake the whole school.'

the iron gate at the entrance is shut, as it always is from late evening until the end of classes, but Faris steps on the bottom of it and stretches for the very top, which isn't that high, less than seven feet, maybe, and then sort of stretches himself upward, using the swirly design welded onto the bars of metal for support. Faris is all lean, sinewy muscle with barely any fat, because he's grown approximately half a foot over the summer, and Tom can't help but be a bit impressed when he just jumps off the gate and doesn't even wince. (however, Tom is pretty sure that when he lands, he bites his lip and makes a face, Tom knows, even if he can't see Faris' face. that at least is a bit of a comfort for Tom.)

'come on, Tomethy,' Faris spits from his side of the gate. he lights himself yet another cigarette, the cherry of it almost the same orange glowing colour as the slow sunrise. the way Faris is standing, it gives him a bit of a halo. Tom hates irony. 'hurry up, we'll get caught.'

'I'm still not sure we should do this.'

'come on, don't you want to have fun?' the tone in Faris' voice is sneering and mocking, and Tom really wants to march right to their head of year and tell him off. not like he'd ever do that, because Faris is his best mate, but it's not like he doesn't deserve it.

'you're a right cunt, Faris.'

'yeah, I am.' Faris grins at him again, that irritating grin, and says, 'come on, I'll help you and all.'

so Tom goes for it, he steps onto the bottom of the gate and has to jump a bit to reach the very top of it, and Faris reaches through the bars and helps him place his feet on the metal swirls. this is stupid, this is ridiculously stupid and it mainly just stings in Tom's hands and makes him feel more than inept, but then he manages to get on top of the gate and not fall on his face when he jumps down.

'you okay?'

'yeah, I think.'

'good. come on, come on,' Faris urges, and then he's pulling Tom away by the wrist again.

Tom isn't sure where they're going, and he's also pretty sure that Faris doesn't know either, but when they've been running for maybe ten minutes, he regains his common sense for long enough when he sees a group of policemen standing across from them at an intersection.

'coppers,' he hisses, and maybe it comes out not really hissing, but sounding more panicked, but that's what he intended it to sound like, so, and then he's pulling Faris around the corner and through the nearest gate.

he's dragged Faris most of the way around the building that vaguely registers in his brain as the old church when he pulls his hand away and asks, 'what the bloody fuck was that?'

'what was what?' Tom asks back.

'what did you think they were gonna do, arrest us for not being at school?'

'maybe?' Tom's voice is so squeaky he can feel the embarrassed blush rise into his cheeks and ears. 'they'd probably call the headmaster.' Tom sits back on a tombstone and immediately feels kind of bad about it, because there's a dead person underneath his feet, but on the other hand, he's also pretty sure that his knees are about to buckle underneath him, so there's that. 'what if they call our parents?'

Faris laughs at him. 'calm down, Tomethy. have a fag.'

'I'm not going to calm down!'

'sh, sh.' Faris lights himself a smoke and puffs it once, then holds it up right to Tom's lips.

Tom feels like an idiot for it, but he takes a drag, a bit too long, because he's near coughing up a storm again. at least he no longer wants to cry at the thought of getting caught cutting class, though, so that's a huge plus.

'come on,' Faris says, voice low and reasonable again, the sneering tone gone, and drags Tom over to the huge looming tree growing right next to the cemetery walls.

he sits on the chest of an angel statue that's lying on its back in the dry dead grass, and Tom perches himself on a thick root, carefully at first.

'listen, Tom, we're not gonna get in trouble. we're posh public school boys, we're not bloody chavs. no one's going to question us. we're better than that.'

he digs into his satchel for the stupid sketchpad that he's been given for his birthday that he's been doodling fuck-knows-what in ever since, and brings both his legs up to fold them criss cross apple sauce.

Tom looks down at the fag that has somehow ended up smouldering between his fingers and says, 'okay.'

it becomes a thing after that.

once or twice a week, one of them decides that they just don't go to class today, and then the other one follows. it's usually Faris who decides it. it's always Tom who's a little bit hesitant about getting caught, about getting in trouble, or sometimes, about not being able to score the fence. at least that stops being an issue after the first ten times or so.

some mornings, they stop at the Sainsbury's halfway between school and the church and buy sweets and crisps, and no one ever thinks to question them, because Faris was right. because they're well-behaved posh school boys who don't cut class or smoke self-rolled cigarettes or hang around in cemeteries.

 

–

 

the day is sweltering hot and Faris is lying back onto the angel's torso, head in Tom's lap on top of his folded-up blazer and hands working at his sketchbook. Tom reaches forward and nabs the cigarette he's got dangling between his lips to take a drag. the drawing that's slowly taking shape kind of resembles the leaves of the oak tree above them, but Tom knows better than to ask about it.

'are you watching me?' Faris asks rather suddenly, head turning and big eyes glaring owlish up at Tom. Tom shrugs. 'stop doing it.'

Faris reaches blindly behind himself, gropes for Tom's hand and tangles his fingers with it, and then he says, 'gimme my fag back.'

Tom does, he places it between Faris' plump lips so he doesn't have to let go of his sketchbook for even a second, and Faris gives him this dazed, closed-lipped smile. he sucks the fag down to the butt and Tom plucks it away again and stubs it out on the side of the angel. it's completely quiet for a few seconds, one of those summer days with no wind when even the birds and bugs aren't coming out. one of those days where the whole world feels deserted. still, even with sweat sticking his school shirt to his back, Tom feels like this is still better than sitting in class for hours on end.

'Tom?' Faris has closed his sketchbook and put it on his chest, the place where, Tom knows, the hollow below his ribs is under his shirt. there's sweat gathering near his collarbones, where his shirt is unbuttoned to the third button.

'yeah?'

'what do you think you want to do in the end?'

'what, after the A levels?'

'no, like.' Faris holds up the pack of fags from his shirt pocket and Tom picks one out and sticks it between his own lips to light it. 'when you die?'

'I don't know,' Tom says after a second. 'you mean like, how I want to die or how I want to be buried?'

'both, I guess.' Faris motions for him to pass the fag and Tom does. he exhales a big puff and watches Faris disappear behind the smoke for a second, just as he says, 'I think if I had the choice, I'd like to drown.' his fingers are clammy between Tom's. 'like, not in a suicide way, but if I ever died in a freak accident, I'd want to drown.'

'sounds painful,' Tom comments and takes the fag back to puff it again.

'I'm not sure,' Faris says. 'I dream about it,' and he grabs for the fag, 'a lot, you know.'

'that's just dreams, Faz.'

'yeah, but I feel like it wouldn't scare me any more. as if I already know what's coming.'

Tom looks down at Faris and blows out a stream of smoke aimed at his mouth. they understand each other.

'what about you?'

'never really thought about it.' Tom's fingers stroke over Faris' soft palm. 'I don't think I'd want a natural death or illness or anything.'

Faris nods. 'too slow and painful.' he sucks at the fag he's swiped from Tom's hand and says, 'especially a natural death when you're old. you're literally just falling apart.'

'I never want to be old,' Tom says. he strokes Faris' fringe, for such a brief second that he knows Faris can't register it and complain, and says, 'I think when I die I want to be shot.'

'how d'you expect that to happen?'

'I don't know. freak accident. or maybe I get taken as a hostage or caught up in a robbery or something big like that.'

'or you go crazy and shoot yourself,' Faris argues.

'or that.'

'how do you want it done, then?'

'what d'you mean?'

'temple, through the mouth, up through your chin?'

'what's the least painful?'

'they're all painful. you know, Tomethy, because there's a bullet going through your brain.'

'yeah, fair enough.' Tom snatches the fag back and says, 'I think when I'm dead I want one of these pretty traditional graves. one that says beloved husband and father on it, with a big angel statue on.' he pets the marble as an affirmation.

'nice.' Faris takes a drag from the fag again and blows a huge cloud into Tom's face. 'd'you want to be cremated or just buried?'

'don't know. buried seems more festive. having your coffin covered in flowers slowly descend into the soil.'

'poetic.'

'and I feel weird about being cremated. like, it's someone's job to burn dead bodies. he probably enjoys it or at least it's not disgusting enough to make him quit. who the hell does that?'

'crazy people,' Faris says and stretches his hand out to let the ash trail on the cigarette drip into the grass. his hair is fanned out around his head like a messy crown and Tom has this urge to touch it. 'and we're not crazy, Tomethy, are we?'

'we're not.' Tom nods. he leans down, careful to not disentangle their hands, and plucks a dandelion growing next to the angel from the ground. when he goes to weave it into Faris' hair, he remembers something. 'you know, I was talking to Josh Hairward the other day and he said he's always wondered what it'd look and smell like when a human burns to death.'

'gross.' Faris scowls and brings his hand up carefully to feel for the dandelion in his hair, but he doesn't comment on it. 'we don't talk to hair kid, remember?'

'he's funny.'

'he's funny because he's insane, Tomethy.'

Tom shrugs and takes the fags and lighter out from Faris' breast pocket to light himself another one.

'bad enough that you know his real name.'

'pretty sure his real name is not Hairward.'

'yeah, but.' Faris raises his hand. 'pass that over, yeah?'

'yeah, here.' Tom hands the fag over and strokes Faris' hair again. he reckons the dandelion in it looks pretty good, but it'd look better if it was a whole chain of them. or a daisy chain, maybe, but there's no daisies growing in the cemetery.

'so, anyway, I still think I'd want to be cremated.'

'like, when you die,' Tom says, and then immediately feels like a twat for stating the obvious.

'nah, nah, not that.' Faris' voice is slow and drawling and sticky like honey. or tar, maybe. 'just, whenever. surprise me, you know?'

Faris brings his fag down to his shirt, the side with the school's crest on it, and lets a bit of the ember of the cherry drip down onto the fabric. he lets the flame build for a few seconds, and Tom watches it eat at the white cotton. then Faris blows on it, leaving behind only a small black burn, and he laughs. Tom kind of wants to kiss him.

 

–

 

the very first time Tom tries weed, it's the winter that Faris is fourteen and Tom's just barely still thirteen. this winter is a gross one, the cemetery covered in half-frozen brown grass and mud, and even with Faris sat way too close next to him on the angel and his coat and jumper, Tom's still shivering.

'we should've stayed at school,' he says for the second time that day, through the scarf he's got pulled up across his mouth, and he sniffs with the crisp air burning in his eyes and nose.

'and gone through the whole first day of school formalities bullshit?' Faris huffs and flicks his lighter.

'still better than catching pneumonia or something like that.' Tom takes the fag Faris has just lit and takes a drag, and he adds, 'this guy from year ten's in the hospital with that, I heard. Joseph Something.'

'yeah, but Joseph Something's not us.'

Faris smiles his stupid lazy smile, his mouth stretching out across most of what Tom can even see of his face. his fringe is falling all the way across his eyes, because Faris hasn't had a haircut in exactly ten months. Tom remembers that day very well, it had been his birthday and they'd smoked cigarettes and eaten cake from Tesco with pink icing on it, and Faris had pulled at his hair and said they can't make him cut it again, and Tom had just nodded and let him.

right now, though. Tom shakes his head and says, 'you're such a berk, Faz,' and wipes his nose on his scarf.

'and you're a crybaby,' Faris says, in this completely smooth and matter-of-fact way.

Tom hates him for it. 'it's cold.'

'settle down, Tomethy.' Faris searches the pocket of his coat for something, just for a few short seconds, before he pulls out his rolling papers and tobacco, as well as this little clear plastic bag. 'have a smoke.'

he takes one wrapping paper and sets it down carefully onto his lap, and heaps a cigarette-sized line of tobacco onto it, before he opens the zip on the other bag and sprinkles some of what's in there onto it as well.

'Faris? what is that?' the stuff is vaguely green and brown, kind of crumbly looking, and Tom hopes that it isn't what he thinks it is.

Faris licks the edge of the rolling paper, slowly, and finishes packing his spliff, and then he says, ''s weed. marijuana. Mary Jane, you know.' his voice runs down Tom's back slowly and sticky like black treacle, drawling and mocking.

'where'd you even get that from?' Tom asks, and he can't hide the slightly panicked tone that's creeping into his voice now. he feels like a dirty coward, but then, on the other hand, he'd rather not get in trouble for doing illegal drugs. 'that's illegal,' he says, out loud, just to prove his point, and even he can tell it makes him sound like a right berk.

'of course it is,' Faris says and looks at him, and says, 'I bought it off some sixth former, settle down.' he brings the spliff up to his mouth and lights it, and then he takes a deep drag.

Tom watches him exhale a huge cloud of fog and wishes he'd remembered to bring his own fags.

'you should try it, Tomethy. might help with your neuroses.' Faris spent most of November in the library reading old psych textbooks and now he sometimes talks as if he's just eaten a copy of the DSM.

'I haven't got any bloody neuroses,' Tom insists. it sounds neurotic even to him.

'yeah,' Faris starts, and his voice comes out even more irritatingly slow and drawling than it does normally. 'yeah, you kinda do.' he looks at the spliff where the cherry just went out and lights it, and then he says, 'come on.'

'stop peer pressuring me,' Tom says, but he laughs, and he figures that if he just takes one drag, maybe then Faris will stop bothering him about it. he takes the spliff and holds it carefully between his fingers, eyes it a bit sceptically, and Faris laughs at him.

'it's not going to fucking bite you, calm down.'

'I'm only doing this to shut you up, just so you know,' Tom says, sounding, he reckons, very smug. he kind of ruins it, though, when he actually brings the joint up to his lips and inhales, only to cough and splutter immediately. the smoke is acidic and burning, his eyes are burning and his throat and lungs are burning and his face is burning, too. he coughs until his lungs feel bigger than his ribcage and then he's done and still aching all over.

surprisingly enough, Faris doesn't laugh, not even a little, and somehow, that makes it worse.

'fuck you,' Tom exclaims when he sees Faris' completely straight face, because he just knows that right now, Faris is feeling smug and superior and grown-up and all these things and Tom wants to punch him.

'hey, hey, are you okay?'

Tom coughs again and hates himself for it.

'let me just.' Faris plucks the spliff from Tom's fingers and brings it up to his own mouth. his lips are all ruddy red with cold when he exhales. 'let me help you out.'

'what d'you mean?'

'come here.'

Tom inches a little bit closer and Faris presses his cold hand onto his cheek.

'open your mouth.'

Tom does. he lets his lips open up like a fish's, and then he can feel Faris' breath on his cheek, in his mouth, almost taste it.

he thinks back to one late night, when Faris had slipped into his bed because the heating in their room broke, and, at one point, asked, 'do you ever think about boys? like, kissing boys?' only to go, 'never mind, never mind, forget it,' when Tom had asked him, 'what?'

right now, with Faris this close to him, he can't help but shrink back a little, and ask, 'what're you doing?'

'relax, relax,' Faris says, voice once again all persuasive and sticky, and his hand moves to the nape of Tom's neck and tilts his face a bit more.

he brings the spliff up to his lips and takes a drag, but doesn't exhale at first, and then he's close, too close, Tom can see his eyelashes flutter shut and every little imperfection in his face. still, he doesn't move away.

Faris exhales into Tom's open mouth, slowly, slowly, and this time, when Tom swallows the smoke down, it's not nearly as bad. his head feels a bit floaty and Faris' breath is too loud, the press of his fingers too strong. Tom thinks about the drawings he's seen in Faris' sketchbook, of one bloke from sixth form who's got shiny hair and dainty features and prominent cheekbones, and finally, Faris pulls back.

'what the bloody fuck was that?' Tom asks, but it doesn't come out sounding nearly as vicious as he'd wanted it to.

'but it wasn't too bad, was it?' Faris asks in response, that stupid smirk spreading out across his face. ''s how they taught me to do it.'

Tom thinks about that same pretty-boy sixth former tilting Faris' head back and breathing into his mouth, and isn't sure whether to be disgusted by that or angry at Faris himself.

'it's still fucking gay,' Tom says, and hates how much he sounds like a child with that, but more than that, he hates Faris' stupid condescending grin. he hates Faris.

'it's not gay, Tomethy, calm down,' Faris says. 'it'd be gayer if I kissed you.' he takes a deep drag off the spliff, and this time, when his hand goes to the back of Tom's neck, Tom just opens up and breathes it in. 'there we go.'

Tom keeps his eyes shut even when Faris pulls back.

 

–

 

it's a ridiculously early morning during the time of the year when the ground is mainly covered in soggy yellow-brown leaves and Faris is lighting another spliff. they're sitting side-by-side on the angel's chest, damp with rain and cold even through Tom's parka that he'd folded up to sit on.

'fuck,' Faris says and exhales, and it makes his mouth look frankly obscene, and he says, 'this stuff is good.'

he offers Tom the spliff, and Tom accepts. it really is, rich and earthy, not like the cheap weed they normally smoke. 'where'd you get this from?'

'did some favours,' Faris starts, his voice getting into that slow, sticky tone once more. 'nothing big, here and there.' he shifts on his folded-up coat, folds his legs, all skittish and fidgety like he gets when he's high. then he must have noticed that Tom is staring at him, because he says, 'not sexual favours, Tomethy, you pervert.'

'like you'd perform sexual favours on anyone other than me,' Tom points out.

Faris laughs and passes the spliff over. 'yeah.'

they smoke in silence for a few long minutes, and Tom can't help but still stare at Faris. there's something different about him today, it seems, he's that bit more nervous and hectic in his movements, or maybe that's just Tom imagining it. maybe it's the weed. good weed.

'oh yeah,' Faris says, after he's smoked the spliff down to a little stub and thrown it down into the damp mix of mud and grass and leaves next to the angel's torso. 'I got you something.'

he slumps downward to get his satchel, a rather awkward movement, and ends up giggling for roughly three seconds, which, in turn, makes Tom snigger along as well. they're both trying to choke it off while Faris digs through his books, looking for the thing he wants to give Tom, but then his head snaps upward and he's glowering at Tom with this deadly serious expression.

'stop laughing at me, Tomethy, this is serious.' in fact, so serious that at the end of the statement, Faris starts sniggering once again. he chokes it off quicker this time, and then he's pulling a wrinkly white plastic bag out from his satchel. 'got it.'

Tom's not sure why he's still laughing. he fucking hates weed. 'what did you get for me, then?'

'stop laughing already.' Faris kicks him in the shin, and that works.

Tom is no longer laughing. 'come on. what'd you get me?'

'well,' Faris starts, and then his voice gets all soft and quiet when he says, 'it's not really for you. it's more like, for us.' that's when he pauses for a second, as if to think, if Tom didn't know that Faris chooses his words carefully. 'for the both of us?'

Tom wants to laugh, but he knows he's not supposed to, so he doesn't. he just nods, and Faris hands the plastic bag over.

what's inside there is a collar. it's matte black leather, wide with a large silver buckle, and it looks roughly the size to fit around Faris' neck.

'oh.' they've never really talked about this before. 'well.'

Tom pulls it all the way from the bag and runs his fingers along it, feels roughly as expensive as it looks.

'do you like it?' Faris asks, and now his voice is all soft and small. 'I've been, you know. I've wanted to wear one for a while now.'

there's a tag still stuck to the collar, Tom notices that only when he goes to rip it off, and he knows he shouldn't be laughing, he knows how Faris gets when it comes to those things, but he starts laughing either way. 'for medium sized dogs?'

Faris still looks at him all confused and hurt and too much like a startled small animal, but he's laughing, too. 'it was the only way I could get one, all right?' he coughs and lights himself a fag, and says, 'I don't want to be your dog.'

Tom beckons for Faris to hand him the fag over, and then he says, 'well, in that case I don't mind.'

honestly, Tom doesn't think about these things a lot. he doesn't research them like Faris does, but he knows enough about them to realise what the collar means, and actually, he really likes the thought of Faris wearing it as well.

'thanks.' Faris takes the fag back and takes a very long drag, and then he asks, 'can you put it on me, maybe?'

he's sounding all soft and sheepish, again, and it does things to Tom's insides, makes him feel more, maybe, in love with Faris than he should be, and Tom says, 'yeah. sure.'

'okay.'

Faris shuffles a little bit closer, and then he's craning his neck for Tom, pulling the thick scarf he's wearing away, and Tom has to admit he's a bit hesitant when he unbuckles the collar and rings it around Faris' throat. Faris is still all lanky and thin, even now that he and Tom are close to the same height, and with the thick band of leather around it, his neck seems even thinner and tinier. Tom stops looking at Faris' neck and looks at his face instead, at how glazed-over his eyes have gone when Tom fully wraps the collar around his throat, his lips red with cold and puffy. it's a look Tom's already seen a few times, the times when Faris just went all limp underneath him, and it's a rather good look on him, at that.

'is it okay like this? not too tight?'

'yeah.'

Tom's careful when he buckles the collar, watches Faris' throat constrict under his fingers as he swallows, and then, when it's fully closed, he can't help but press a quick kiss to Faris' chin, just because. his insides feel too tight with this. all of it.

'thank you,' Faris says, and then he's pulling his scarf back into place, effectively hiding the collar from view. 'what do you think?'

'I think it looks good on you,' Tom says, and because he feels like he can, because he knows Faris would let him, he reaches under the layer of wool, for the O ring where normally a leash would be attached, and pulls Faris closer to kiss him properly. 'I like it a lot.'

 

–

 

the winter when Tom is fourteen and Faris has just turned fifteen, the heat in their dorm breaks just the week when the first snow falls. the first evening, when there's snow collecting on their windowsill and ice flowers growing up the pane, Tom puts on two woollen jumpers above his flannel pyjamas, that and his thickest socks. he wraps one of Faris' scarves around his neck and burrows under his duvet and the two blankets they'd been given by the matron.

Faris is sitting on his bed on his side of the room, the sheets on the mattress even paler under his folded bare legs. he's got a cigarette dripping ash in one hand, and Tom isn't even going to bother pointing out that he's going to get the stench into the whole room because there's so much of it already there. a little, he looks like something that should be a painting in the sparse lighting, all bony and small with big puppy eyes. his face is still soft even when the rest of him has grown, the same way it was two years ago, and Tom's not sure when he started staring. why he started staring. he hopes Faris doesn't notice it, but then Faris turns his head and stares back.

'you gonna go to bed soon, or?'

'yeah,' Faris replies, and then he stands up to crank the window open, coldcoldcold, and throws his butt out the window.

Tom can see the goosebumps creep up his skin, can see his nipples draw up tight and pointy, and at that point, has to stop staring once again. the cold gets to his own skin a split second later and he huddles into his pile of blankets even deeper. 'Faris, it's cold.'

'yeah.' Faris exhales in a cloud that looks just like cigarette smoke, except it's his own breath fogging up in the cool air. 'give me a second.'

Faris stands there and breathes some more, fills the room up with bit white puffs of fog, and Tom can feel his own skin shrivelling up with cold slowly. he sniffs. and Faris finally shuts the window.

'man, this school is a shithole,' Faris says and stalks over to his side of the room to shut the lamp on his bedside off.

this time, he can't see it when Tom stares, and so Tom stares, rather unabashedly at that, at his boxers-clad arse and his skinny thighs.

'I can't believe my parents are paying four figures a month for this and then they can't even be bothered with heating the place up.'

'mm, yeah.' Tom's only half listening. it's cold and Faris isn't wearing a lot of clothes and Tom isn't sure if he wants to know for how long that's been an issue. 'you should put some clothes on.'

'I'm not gonna put on bloody clothes. see how they'd like it if I catch pneumonia or something just because they can't be bothered with keeping their school warm.'

'you're a berk, Faz.' Tom is also not sure when Faris got so close to his bed.

'rather be that than what you are,' Faris points out, and then he says, 'scoot over, Tomethy.'

and Tom does. scoot over, very, very slowly, and then Faris is lifting the blankets, cold, and climbing in next to him. he kills the light on Tom's bedside and then it's dark. very, very dark.

'Tomethy,' Faris says, low and heavy and close and annoying. 'scoot over some more.'

his breath is very warm on Tom's face, and when Tom reaches out his hand to feel for the wall, he notices there's pretty much nowhere to scoot over to. well. he turns over so his back is toward Faris, to at least put that between them.

'no more room.'

'okay,' Faris says, and then he's moving so he's pressed against Tom's back, warm breath and warm, warm bare skin, and Tom just breathes. his skin is running freezing and he's pretty sure it's got nothing to do with the broken heating.

'goodnight, Tomethy,' Faris says. his hand settles on Tom's ribs, through the three layers of fabric, and then Tom is all left alone.

'Faris?'

no reply. Faris is a berk who can fall asleep on command, more or less. his hand is still heavy, though, his hand and his breath and all of him, and Tom's left all alone with his thoughts. with his thoughts and Faris all over him and in his ear, and he's thinking back to the last time he shared a bed with Faris and not sure if he wants to cringe or not. Faris breathes into his ear some more, and he tries to struggle away, but that only makes Faris wind his arm around his waist properly. well.

Tom's not sure how he falls asleep at all that night.

it changes the third night without heat in a row, after Tom's spent another night having Faris nearly naked all over him and trying not to freak out. Faris gets into his bed, as he always does, curls up behind him and breathes into his ear, and Tom tries not to freak out. as always.

and as always, there's still that nagging memory deep in the back of his head, of Faris not a year earlier cuddling himself tight into Tom's side and asking him about boys, kissing boys, and there's also the memory of the shiver of something – disgust or a lack of understanding or distrust or – that had run down Tom's back at those words. and now, now Tom's in the dark thinking back to those split few seconds for maybe the thousandth time, and he's not sure what to think of it. the room is cold and only getting colder, and on his back, Faris is only getting warmer, and Tom feels like it's only getting harder for him to sleep. he tries to scoot further towards the wall, into the wall, but there's only so much room and Faris' hand on his side keeps him more or less in place.

Tom shuts his eyes and tells himself to just sleep. sleep. sleep is good.

it's just, it won't come.

Tom thinks he's been lying there for an hour, maybe, maybe half an hour, maybe ten minutes that seemed way too long, when he feels it. Faris. more specifically, he feels Faris' hips rub against his arse, his dick half-hard and red-hot even through the layers of his pants and pyjama bottoms and Faris' boxers, and as soon as that really sinks in, he freezes up. Tom goes stiff and freezing and fucking terrified in Faris' grip, because he's pretty sure something about this is incredibly wrong. he's not supposed to be here. he's not supposed to have his best friend and room mate who he's not supposed to be this fixated on near naked in his bed. he's not supposed to let that best friend who's got a stiffie right in his bed use him as a humping post, so he shrinks away, except there's nowhere to shrink to any more.

Faris' breathing goes heavy and laboured into Tom's ear, making his presence all that more obvious, and Tom has to stop this.

'Faris,' he whispers, as loudly as it's humanly possible to whisper. 'Faris, wake up.'

no reaction. Tom turns around to face him, to physically shake him awake, maybe, but then he's got Faris' erection pressing right into his thigh and he realises he's made a terrible mistake.

'Faris.'

this time, he does get a reaction, that is to say, Faris grinds himself further against Tom's leg, breath quick and hard and sexual, the way it sounded that one time Tom accidentally overheard him wanking in the shower. Tom's got fucking goosebumps running up his back and his chest and everywhere, and in the little bit of light coming in, he sees Faris' face all sleep-slack, with his mouth hanging open.

'Faris.'

'Tomethy,' comes the reply, but it's not Faris' regular voice, it's the one that comes out when he talks in his sleep.

'Faris, wake up,' Tom insists, and now his hands are on Faris' shoulders, shaking, waiting for a reaction. maybe trying to throw him off the mattress.

'Tomethy,' Faris breathes once again, soft and sleepy, but now it's filthy, filthier than any piece of dialogue Tom has ever heard in porn. he wants to pretend that his dick didn't just go from limp to rock-hard in a few seconds. his hands shake at Faris' shoulders once more. 'Tom, touch me like that, Tom.'

'Faris,' Tom says, louder this time, and makes a point of moving his hips away from Faris. 'Faris, you're having a wet dream.'

'Tomethy,' Faris says for a third time, and then he's scooting that bit closer to resume rubbing his dick against Tom's thigh.

Tom really hopes that he can't feel Tom's own dick. he's never been especially religious, but in that exact moment, he's pretty sure he's going to hell for this.

'Tomethy,' and then Faris is so close that he's got to feel it now. 'how can I have a wet dream when I'm not asleep?'

and that changes everything.

'what the fuck, Faz?'

Tom's first reaction is to try and wrench Faris away by his shoulders, and it doesn't work.

'I saw you.' Faris' eyes are open now, dark and beady and shiny in the bit of light. Tom can't see anything but his mass of hair and nose and those eyes. it all reminds him of some big predatory bird, and he's the prey. 'I thought this was what you wanted.'

'what?'

the big predatory bird says, 'I saw you staring at my arse,' and now his voice is quiet and small but still too heavy, and Tom has given up on figuring out how he feels. 'd'you fancy me, Tomethy?' he sounds amused, but not malicious, for once.

Tom makes a motion with his head, which might be a nod. in the dark, Faris grins, teeth shiny with spit, and then their foreheads are touching. yeah, that was definitely a nod.

'holy shit.'

Faris is laughing, soft and quiet, his shoulders quivery under Tom's hands, and somehow, Tom manages to laugh along. then, then Tom can't see anything any more because Faris is all the way in his face, pressing their lips together and slowly prying Tom's mouth open with his tongue. and Tom kind of forgets how to breathe. he's never kissed a girl before, but he knows Faris has, has heard all about how it feels, about what girls feel like, and he's not sure if that could ever take his breath away like Faris' soft mouth against his does right now. Faris' hands scratch at Tom's hips through the layers of jumpers and pyjamas, before they slip inside, and Tom actually stops breathing at that point.

'mate, you're really hard.'

'yeah, I know,' Tom presses out, 'just don't,' he starts to say, 'just ignore it,' but then Faris' soft big hand is on his cock, pulling it out from his bottoms and stroking and rubbing circles, and he kind of cuts off.

yeah, this isn't all that different from wanking, except for the angle, the angle is kind of weird, and Faris' hand is that bit larger, can encompass a little more of Tom's dick. but then, Faris is right in his face, breath soft and hot like his mouth that's slowly eating up every little noise that slips from Tom's lips. and that, that's so much more than what Tom ever had.

'do you mind?' Faris asks.

'what?'

'are you going to go neurotic and weird tomorrow because I wanked you off?'

and Tom just shrugs, or shakes his head or nods, he can't tell, but the next second, there's a different sensation, and when he looks, Faris has his hand fitted around both their cocks, wanking them both at the same time. he brings one hand down to Faris' arse, over his pants, squeezes and pulls him that little bit closer, because he figures he shouldn't just lie there with his hands to himself, and Faris just sighs and goes back to kissing him, and, okay.

'do you want to take over?'

'what?'

'do you want to take control?' Faris asks, his hand going a little bit faster. Tom's already got that tightness in his skin, in his lower stomach and his bollocks, and he knows he's not going to be able to go for much longer. then Faris says, 'because I would. I'd let you,' and his face is all soft and pretty now, and Tom's not sure why, but he comes, right then and there.

'fuck,' he breathes out, and Faris breathes back, 'oh my god,' with this weird tone in his voice that Tom can't place at all, and then he's coming too, Tom can feel it.

it's quiet for a few seconds, a few seconds that Tom takes to get his breathing back in check.

'Faris?'

'yeah?' Faris asks back, and there's this stupid grin on his face that makes Tom want to punch him, makes him almost resemble the Cheshire Cat from the movie in the dark.

'I've got tissues on the bedside, if you could just,' Tom starts.

'yeah, okay.' Faris cleans them up quickly, and then tucks Tom's dick back into his pyjamas where it belongs, and then balls the tissue up and tosses it off somewhere into the dark.

he moves in closer once again, fits himself against Tom, and Tom's too slack to really move away, and also, not sure if he minds.

'now that wasn't so hard, Tomethy, was it.'

 

–

 

the spring that Tom has just turned seventeen, after exams, they sneak out into this club. Tom doesn't especially like clubs, the blaring shitty music and the mass of drunken people, and he knows Faris doesn't either, but this club seems to be an exception for him. they're in this stuffy little hotel basement and the DJ's playing this mix of northern soul and psychedelia, and come to think of it, his name from the flyer sounds kind of familiar but Faris didn't say anything so Tom wasn't going to ask. and Tom's sloshed by now, not so sloshed that his knees are buckling and he's got the desire to be sick all over the floor but just the right amount of sloshed where he's shaking his hips to the song that's playing and dancing with this pretty girl and also, just sloshed enough to not think about the fact that he should currently be in his dorm room, sleeping, and that he and Faris are most certainly going to get in trouble if they're caught sneaking back in.

so maybe, he's actually a bit disappointed when Faris crowds in behind him and slurs, 'Tomethy? hey, Tomethy.'

'hmmwhat?' Tom turns around. he stops dancing and, out of the corner of his eye, watches the girl dance away from him.

'how 'bout we get away from here.' Faris is hanging heavy onto Tom's back, hands firm on his shoulders. his mouth is almost on Tom's ear, breath hot, but not quite as hot as the rush of blood that's going to Tom's face at that second. and he's reeking, the stink of booze coming out with the words when he says, 'I think you've had enough to drink tonight.'

Tom wonders how much he's had to drink already.

'yeah, 'cause you're one to talk,' he says, has to shout over the music, and then, when Faris fully wraps his arms around his middle and drawls 'Toooooooooooooom' right into his ear, Tom adds, 'I was having fun here, why're you being such a nuisance?'

he swats at Faris' big hands and only gets Faris pressing himself even tighter against his back in return.

'I was thinking,' Faris says, and he's heavy, so heavy, both his breath and his body against Tom's, 'thinking we should go some place more quiet,' and, oh. oh.

Faris' hands dip down to tug at Tom's belt loops, settled big and warm on his hipbones, and Tom isn't sure whether the rush of blood going to his face or the one going to his cock is stronger.

'are we gonna?'

Tom looks around for a split second and there's no one staring at them yet, all the club goers too wrapped up in their music and each other, and he mouths, 'yeah.'

the bathroom stalls at the club are small and the door of the one that Tom crowds Faris into barely closes, but he can't bring himself to care at that exact moment. Faris starts eating at his mouth as soon as Tom turns back from the shoddy lock, hands working at his belt buckle and tongue reaching into Tom's mouth. he tastes like booze, a lot of booze and cigarette smoke, and for a split second, all Tom can do is hold on to his shoulders and let him.

'fuck.' Faris pulls away when he's got his hand all the way down Tom's pants. Tom's actually, actually embarrassingly hard already, but Faris has him pressed tight against the wall with his thumb doing that swirly thing around the head of Tom's cock. 'been waiting all evening for this.'

Tom laughs, looks at Faris' lit-up excited sex face and his swollen lips and says, 'should've said something maybe.' he feels Faris' dick grind over his thigh, even through their two layers of trousers, and says, 'you're not this needy normally.'

Faris lays sloppy kisses onto Tom's cheeks, when did he get this close, when did he get his free hand onto Tom's arse to pull him in even closer, and says, 'you're not normally dancing with strange girls.' he squeezes both his hands down tighter, so tight it borders on painful for Tom's cock, and presses him that bit further into the cheap plywood of the partition.

'you were dancing with girls the whole time,' Tom points out. he brings his one hand up into the tangled back of Faris' hair to pull him close and peck his lips, and says, 'you're a right slag, Badwan.'

'wasn't,' Faris insists. his hips keep slowly, steadily grinding back against Tom's, and his fingers are working at the waistband of Tom's pants, pulling them along with his trousers down to below his arse. 'not like you were, you were looking at her tits.'

Tom laughs. he can feel how hard Faris is already, probably just as leaking-and-aching hard as Tom is himself. half of him wants to reach down and help Faris get his trousers off, and then fuck him right into the grubby tiles on the back of their bathroom stall, but on the other hand, he's enjoying this, Faris clinging on to him and laying all his attention onto him, so instead, he just says, 'just a little bit of fun.'

Faris does that swirly thing with his thumb again and Tom hisses and holds onto Faris that bit tighter.

'I wouldn't even have slept with her,' he adds, because he wouldn't have. wouldn't because he's got Faris who's so needy and willing for him, but he's thinking right now that if it's going to make Faris act like this, he should probably fool around with girls more often. then, just to add to it, Tom says, 'didn't seem like the type who's up for a shag in the loos.'

Faris giggles, the stupid giggle he only gets when he's properly off his face, and hides his face in Tom's neck. he's licking over a faded mark there, that he'd left there maybe a week ago despite how much Tom had protested, and maybe the tingle from that sensation is the reason Tom decides to yield and work Faris' belt buckle open. Faris' cock is leaking wet when Tom gets his hand on him, jerks him a couple times with the same harsh rhythm that Faris is doing it to him and makes him make pretty, low little noises right up into his ear.

'd'you think I'm a slag, Tomethy?' Faris asks, soft and heavy and breathy.

his dick is so hot and thick, twitching just a bit in Tom's grasp, and that in turn is making Tom's own dick ache that bit more, even under Faris' hand squeezing it without much care, and Tom's pretty sure that if he doesn't get it inside Faris in the next few minutes, he's going to actually die.

'you kinda are,' Tom replies, all while he trails his other hand back to Faris' arse. the look on Faris' face is completely ecstatic, far-away and dazed and hungry for it, even before Tom dips his fingers down between his cheeks and presses them over his hole. 'you're only a slag for me, though.'

Faris giggles again, right into the junction of Tom's neck and shoulder, and Tom can feel it where their chests are pressed together, can feel it where he's got two fingertips crammed inside Faris' rim, too. they'd had sex the night before, quiet and urgent in Faris' bed, and Tom figures that Faris should still be loose enough for him to just go right ahead.

'get your trousers off for me?'

Faris pulls back to pull them down to his ankles with his pants, and the next second, he's already bracing himself on the wall, legs spread wide and lewd and fingers flat against the tile. 'like this?'

'fuck.' Tom lines himself up behind Faris, can't help the grind of his dick against Faris' arse, and spits into his hand a few times, until he's sure it's enough to coat his cock. 'you look like a slag, too.'

his free hand presses underneath Faris' shirt, against the dip of flesh between his pelvic bones and just this close to where his cock is precome-wet and so obviously needy for it, and Faris makes a desperate tiny noise, so Tom decides to just go ahead and push in. it's a tight fit, incredibly tight, and the saliva alone isn't near enough for the friction to not be painful. Tom can actually see Faris' hole straining around the girth of his dick, red and sore, and he spits down a couple more times and rubs it into the skin in an attempt to soothe.

Faris is making the worst noises, low and guttural and even louder than the muffled music from the other side of the bathroom door, but when Tom slows his thrusts, he only sounds even needier.

'okay?' Tom asks, makes a point to lean all the way forward so he can whisper into Faris' ear and grasp his cock, only to find that it's still hard.

'don't stop,' Faris presses out, 'don't.'

'I'm going to hurt you.'

'not gonna.' Faris moves his one arm to lay it out onto the wall, brace his forehead on it, and he asks, soft and low, 'just fuck me, please?'

'okay.' Tom has to take a moment to inhale and exhale, get his breathing back to normal, and only then does he rock his hips back into Faris again, the tight heat of his insides. he watches Faris' back shake with the little noises he lets out, with every thrust, watches his hole twitch and goes back to stroking him, slow and teasing this time around, fingers lingering around the head.

'yeah,' Faris breathes after a few seconds, 'just like that, Daddy.'

Tom blinks for a second, tries to reassure himself that he didn't just hear Faris say that, but then he's giving a thrust that's a bit rougher than the previous ones. Faris' insides squeeze all the way down onto his cock and he says it again, 'Daddy, Daddy.'

'what the hell are you doing?' Tom asks, has to lean up a little ways to get his mouth next to Faris' ear. he places a bite onto his neck right beneath it, for good measure, and Faris hisses.

'fuck me, Daddy.'

'shut up,' Tom insists. he's not sure whether he actually wants Faris to, because in an odd way, the way Faris says the word, all breathy and eager, that goes straight to his cock and Tom isn't sure whether he's okay with that fact, either. 'what do you think you're doing, Faris?'

'Daddy, Daddy,' Faris just repeats, and it's only sounding more desperate now, probably because Tom is still thrusting up into Faris, still has one hand on his cock.

Tom thinks about telling him to shut up again, but then he realises that if it didn't work at first, it's not going to work now.

'if you want me to shut up, then make me.' Faris groans, his neck contorted at an odd angle, lips so obscene and red that Tom is distracted by them for a split second.

he only gets his composure back when Faris presses out 'faster, Daddy,' under his breath. his first impulse is to reach out with the hand that isn't currently holding Faris' cock and strike him across the thigh, right at the top where it melds into the flesh of his arse. there's a sting in his palm and the clap of flesh-on-flesh, and Faris yelps, and for a second, Tom is worried that he might have gone too far.

'Daddy,' Faris breathes, just loud enough for Tom to hear it over the muffled music, 'fuck, Daddy.'

'do you like it when I do that?' Tom asks, looks down at where Faris' skin is just a tint more red than it normally is, and he feels a bit faint. probably more faint than he should feel, but Faris is making tiny noises with every thrust and rolling his arse back like he's asking for more.

'I've been a bad boy, Daddy,' Faris says, and even through the heavy sex in his voice Tom can pick out that mocking tone, and he knows that Faris is riling him up.

when he reaches out to smack Faris again, he knows that it's exactly what Faris wants him to do.

 

–

 

the very first time they fuck, it's a couple of weeks after that one very first night. the heating got fixed after a week in total, but since then, Faris had still been sneaking into Tom's bed every other night or so. and Tom let him, every time, pressed him down into the sheets and kissed him until they both couldn't breathe and wanked them both off at the same time. a few times, he'd let Faris suck him off, too, watched him stare back up at him with big eyes and swollen lips. what got Tom about Faris, about fooling around with him, that was the way he got all soft and pliant when Tom held his hand in one of his and worked both their dicks in his other one. maybe the way he shut up for once when Tom was getting him off, too. or that one time, when he'd asked Tom if he could blow him and then let him straddle his head and just thrust down into his mouth while he looked back up at Tom with his eyes blown all dark and wide. it didn't take either of them much time to come that night.

right now, right now they're lying in Faris' bed and Faris has his one hand in Tom's hair and the other stroking his cock, already breathing low and heavy when Tom is just cupping him through his pants and kissing all along his neck. he's got marks there, bruises and bites which are mostly from Tom, because he'd asked Tom to put them there. Faris' fingers are all the way at the base of Tom's dick, and when he squeezes down a bit tighter, tight enough to make Tom groan, that's when he says it.

'you should fuck me,' Faris whispers, soft into the top of Tom's head, but he sounds so gone that there's no way it's not genuine.

'what?'

'you. fuck me?' Faris laughs.

'yeah, I got that. I just.' at that point Tom pauses. he's not sure exactly why he's hesitating, because he's pretty sure that actual full-on sex would feel even better than handies, but he still keeps hovering above Faris, hand tracing soft circles over the bulge in his briefs. 'wouldn't that hurt you?'

'it wouldn't hurt,' Faris insists. 'you've just got to.' he pauses for a second and reaches down to work his pants past his hips, down to the middle of his thighs, and then, when his cock slaps back onto his stomach, all flushed and slick with precome already, he says, 'slick it up a bit, and loosen it at first.'

Tom's first instinct is to just stare back at him, and his face must have looked a bit uncomfortable.

Faris says, 'what?'

Tom wants to ask back why Faris would even know that, because he didn't even really think about sex like that until now. he hadn't thought about sex with Faris much at all before that one night, mainly because he wouldn't have let himself think about Faris like that. he doesn't want to tell Faris that, because he's pretty sure Faris would laugh at him and accuse him of repressing his homosexual urges. even when his own homosexual urges are all out in the open.

'nothing,' Tom says after a second. he presses a wet kiss right onto Faris' mouth, and says, 'so.'

'd'you wanna?'

'what?' Tom asks. he's maybe playing a little bit dumb.

'wanna fuck me.'

'well, if you're gonna let me.' Tom grinds his hips all the way down into Faris', feels the heat and the rub of their cocks together and shudders a bit

'of course I'd let you.' Faris laughs. 'that's why I asked you to.'

'okay.'

'okay.' Faris reaches out all the way onto the bedside table and reaches for a bottle of hand lotion. Tom knows what it's for, of course, has seen Faris use it to lube them both up before, and now his breath hitches. 'do you want to open me up or should I just...?'

maybe that's Tom's favourite part about having sex with Faris, the fact that he gets all quiet and pleasant and open, and not abrasive and weird like he is around everyone else. even his face looks softer when he asks, cheeks flushed and slightly sweaty and his eyes just slightly losing focus. 'you do it yourself,' Tom says. 'I mean, it's your arsehole.'

Faris sniggers. 'okay.' he spreads his legs that bit wider, and when Tom helps to pull his pants all the way off his feet, he's smiling approvingly. once again, he reaches for the lotion and squeezes a bit onto his three fingers, and then he's beckoning for Tom to move closer again. 'you're a right charmer, Tomethy. no wonder you're never gonna pull a girl.' he gives Tom that stupid condescending smile, and kind of reminds him that way that he's still Faris, even when he's all naked and spread open for Tom.

Tom only considers being insulted for a small second, but then the condescending face screws up and Tom figures that he must have gotten a finger in now. he doesn't have the bollocks to actually check. 'like that's even an issue for you, pulling girls. since you're the one fingering yourself here.'

'shut up, Tomethy,' Faris breathes and pulls Tom in to kiss him, long and sloppy and deep, and even now that Tom isn't touching him, his hips are still working up.

they keep kissing, slow and intense, and Faris keeps rolling his hips, and after a long minute of quiet snogging, Tom finally asks, 'does that actually feel good?'

'yeah.' Faris is still working his fingers, Tom can feel it from the brush of his arm between their bodies, and then he says, 'real good.'

it's at that point that Tom wonders whether Faris has ever done this before, or rather, whether he's had anyone else ever do this to him, but then he figures that he doesn't really want to know. he keeps looking back at Faris, only at his face rather than his fingers, at the way his mouth is gaping around thin air with silent moans and his wide eyes, and maybe then he realises just how much he needs contact on his cock, how much he needs to really fuck Faris. and maybe Faris can read minds, or at least, he's wiping his fingers on the sheets and saying, 'reckon I'm good to go now.'

'okay.'

Tom spreads some of the lotion onto his cock, figures he should, and only then he actually looks down and starts to push in. the very rim of Faris' rim catches on the head of his cock and he bites his lip, just at the sight of it, before he really thrusts in. Faris is still breathing harshly, his cock still lying there hard even before he starts to stroke it himself, and all of that combined, Tom is pretty sure, is better than porn could ever be. better than handies could ever be. it takes him a few seconds until he's all the way in, and by then, Faris is already groaning and twisting his free hand into the back of Tom's hair.

'it's okay,' he says, after he's pulled Tom all the way down to kiss him once again. 'you can start moving.'

and Tom does, he thrusts in and out a few times and watches Faris' face twist and his spread legs shake. he's still got to adjust to the squeeze of Faris' insides, rocks his hips softly yet frantically just to make sure he doesn't come right away, and Faris makes a sound that Tom isn't sure is even human, but he's pretty sure that it's a good thing.

'am I doing okay?'

'doing bloody brilliant, Tomethy.' it's maybe the most affectionate Faris has ever sounded.

 

–

 

the fifth or sixth time Tom is fucking Faris, he's doing it at the very edge of the bed with one of Faris' legs draped over his shoulder, and Faris is pulling his own arm from his mouth, the bit of it he's usually biting down on to muffle himself all red and spit-slick. 'Tom. Tom?'

'what?' Tom asks. he keeps thrusting, though, watches Faris' chest heave with his heavy breathing and watches his cock bob, and he strokes it, just because it's there.

'I want you to hit me.' he says it incredibly casually.

'what?'

'hit me. come on,' Faris says, and his one hand points to his cheek. he grins, and it's incredibly sexual. masochistic, maybe. Tom stares at him.

'I'm not going to hit you.'

'I want you to.' Faris swats Tom's hand away from his cock to take over himself and says, 'do it or I'll scream.'

'you won't.'

'hit me,' Faris says, and now there's an edge to his voice. he rocks his hips back quicker against Tom's thrusts and his voice starts to rise louder and louder as he says, 'oh, Tom, Tom, fuck me, I love your cock, fuck me, fuck me, Tom Cowan...'

it's at this point that Tom decides he's had enough.

'shut up,' he barks, and isn't sure whether he meant for that much vitriol to come through with it, but he's most certainly sure that he'd meant to put that much vitriol into the slap that lands on Faris' cheek.

and Faris groans, low and animalistic and moves his hand on his dick faster, and beckons, 'again.'

Tom has to admit that there's something he likes about the sound of his palm hitting Faris' skin, about the way Faris instinctively rolls his head back into the pillow and the red mark it leaves on his cheek, something that makes him thrust that much quicker into Faris' spread out body.

'do it again.'

and Tom does.

 

–

 

in the end, when their A levels are done, after the big graduation party, they end up sneaking away to the cemetery again. one last time. 'it's tradition,' that's what Faris says when they score the fence of the cemetery, for the very first time because it's the first time they're there at night. 'just one last celebratory time.'

it's just as much a tradition that Faris rolls them both a spliff, but it's entirely not tradition that Tom ends up straddling Faris right there on the fallen angel statue and getting them off with both their cocks in one hand. Tom isn't completely sure if he believes there is a hell, but if there is, he's pretty sure that that's the last straw and the reason why he's going to end up there.

they're lighting cigarettes when they're done, when they've wiped their sticky hands on the cold marble. after it's been quiet for a long time, Faris asks, 'Tom?'

'yeah?'

'if you could have sex on anyone's grave in the world, who'd it be?'

'bloody fuck.' Tom lays his head back further in Faris' lap. 'I don't know whose grave I'd be having sex on. fuck kinda question is that.'

'it's a hypothetical question.'

'I don't know.' Tom sucks on his fag and lets some of the ash drip down into the dew-wet grass. 'maybe some public memorial grave for some world war hero who's been long dead with no surviving family.' he looks at Faris' face looming above him, at Faris' thin fingers grasping his own fag, and says, 'that a good enough answer for you?'

'yeah, suppose.' Faris' hand strokes down Tom's chest, down the fancy shirt he'd been made to wear for graduation, and he says, 'sounds really boring, that's all.' he exhales a cloud of smoke and adds, 'Ian Curtis' memorial stone.'

'what, because he was a good musician?'

''cause people are always visiting his grave still. Joy Division fans and that. there's always flowers and candles there, it'd be kinda romantic.'

'you'd be in public. in a cemetery in Cheshire,' Tom points out.

'that's why I'm saying kinda.'

Tom laughs. his free hand finds Faris' free hand and links them together, and he says, 'you know, I really do like you.'

'I like you too, Tomethy.'


End file.
